Sandy,
You're getting me in trouble, young lady. Well, not you, but my thoughts of you. Kinda hard to dive into a character falling in love when all I can do is think about you—
"You haven't heard a single word I've said, have you?"
"Uh-huh..." She studies the lined paper in her hands.
Peter and Bill exchange looks.
"I said, are you ready?" Peter repeats with a glint in his eyes.
Sandra's mouth shows the upward curve of secret knowing. She carefully folds his letter, stroking the soft edge of the crease before opening to read it for the third time? Fourth?
"Yeah..."
She contentedly traces the curves of his name with a finger. Suddenly the letters are covered by the silky, red petals of a rose Peter is drawing across the page. She swats the air above his hand in mild annoyance.
"What're you doing?"
Peter throws himself against her trailer wall with spread fingers and dramatic flair, as though an invisible orchestra has sounded. The stem of the rose is now clasped in between his teeth.
"Ith thaltha nigh!"
Her head flinches back slightly as droplets of spit are spewed from Peter's mouth around the thorns of the rose. Looking about the room, she lands on Bill.
*"Salsa night, remember?" his gentle voice is sure as he reminds her of their plans to go dancing with the cast.
She breaks from his gaze, carefully pressing the letter back into a bent position, then scanning the room before stashing it deep within her purse.
"Right. I did say I'd do that, didn't I?"
"You did," Peter verifies, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around in a circle before planting a quick peck on her cheek. "Hello again, gorgeous," he murmurs, his cheek still next to hers, "and a deal is a deal, so you can't back out!"
"Sorry, yes, my brain is —yes, I'm ready."
Bill takes three steps forward, his straight, softly-parted hair bouncing as he moves. "No biggie, we've had some long days." He offers the remaining eleven roses from the bouquet she only now notices he is holding, followed by his arm. "M'lady..."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
The sun shines bright through a thick blanket of grape leaves, surrounding everyone on set and laying a warm touch on the outskirts of a cool morning. Alfonso taps a clipboard as he stands between the romantic leads, preparing them for the grape stomping rehearsal.
"You'll lift her and set her into the vat with about sixteen other women," Alfonso begins.
"Will there be actual grapes in there?" Aitana interjects, wrinkling her nose.
Alfonso stares with a pinched expression.
"Uhm, I-I think that they're real. Which, hey, that's good, right?" Keanu talks fast, his voice jumping in key as he tries to get her on board.
Losing patience, Alfonso launches into the meaning of the grape stomping ritual, how it is true to the times, a necessary experience to thrust them into their surroundings.
Aitana nods along, but Keanu catches her eyes darting to the side, then down to the fingers of her hand as she picks at her nails, finally landing on the deep red color of her freshly manicured toes. He quiets, transported back to the day after the Speed premiere, when he'd shown up at Sandra's house, unannounced. Alfonso's voice fades away as he recalls the plum paint on her tanned toes when she walked across her kitchen floor to greet him.
His mouth edges up at the corners.
From the day they met at her audition, he was drawn to her. She is whip-smart, ready for anything, and funny. She batted her eyelashes when she teased him that day about grabbing her ass, giggling as mortification was etched onto his face. Man is she funny. Of course, she is pretty, too. No, not pretty, stunning. She is stunning, but seems to be entirely unaware of just how stunning she is. And she is raw. Real. Unlike the polished façade of the typical Hollywood starlet, she never pretends to be anything more than who she is. And who she is far exceeds anything he could concoct in a book or a script. She develops genuine friendships with everyone she meets, no matter how small a person's job or how little they might be able to do for her. This resonates with him. Maybe that's why he felt like he knew her instantly, and why he started to let her know him.
Chemistry has never been a problem for him on set. Convincing sparks with a romantic lead come as easily as blocking a slap shot on the ice. He is known for his flawless skin and the strong, sinewy body of an athlete, but ignoring all that, he has eyes that make you feel vulnerable and celebrated all at once. And he's the kind of guy who listens. Really listens. It's easy to fall for him on set.
In his career, he'd already had the fortune of being cast with some truly remarkable, beautiful young women, and Aitana is no exception. None of his former romantic co-stars had anything but praise for him, often shared with a lowered voice or a slight flush dancing across their cheeks. When it comes to scripted intimacy, well, **when asked what it's like to be kissed by him, his Point Break love interest, Lori Petty, calls him blessed.
He picks up on the subtleties of expression. Whether it's a small sigh, or the softening of lips when he touches them with his, he will notice. He gives the sense that his entire existence is meant to mold perfectly around her every need and desire. Sometimes this cultivated attraction was taken off set and into his bedroom for real, and he is open to that so long as they are on the same page. Sensuality is divine, he'd always felt, and he is happy to bathe in it whenever he can.
But her.
There was something about her that made him hunger, something that lingered, that smoldered inside of him from the moment of his first taste of her lips. By the time they shared that first kiss in the subway, it felt as though he'd known her his whole life, yet there were still all these secrets hidden inside her that he had to uncover. That he needed to uncover. He couldn't stop himself.
He knew when he brought her that closing gift, a tradition he'd made up on the spot, he knew he was skating on thin ice. She was not free. And the screening from the night before had made it abundantly clear to anyone who paid any attention that the two of them were flammable together. He was playing with fire, showing up that day, and he is desperate to feel that burn again.
"Alright, it's time!"
Alfonso's baritone shocks him back to the present tense, the present scene, with the present star. He forces his gaze onto Aitana. She is a knockout: creamy, olive-toned skin, eyes to fall into, and pink lips begging to be kissed. He can't find a single flaw on her, but flawless looks have never been the most important thing to him. She is kind, hard-working, and she has a sexy accent, but he can't stop thinking about...
Sandy.
What is she doing right now? Who is she with? Is her co-star making her laugh?
Is he making her catch her breath?
His lips straighten with resignation. He'd have to get used to this. Speed had been her first major showing, but he is certain everyone will soon know her name. This will be the first of many times he'll have to exhale as she explores onscreen chemistry with other men, he reminds himself.
All this time she's been convinced that she'd hold him back, she seemed entirely unaware of her own star rising.
After a couple of hours, their feet are stained and the extras are pointing out the formation of blisters. Members of the set are complaining under their breath, the director is irritable, even Athena seems to have been hit with the crabby stick.
Keanu stands obediently to the side of the vat, a new, dry copy of the same costume he'd worn all day cloaking his body.
Aitana is in the middle of the vat, squinting as some of the crew begins to spray her dress to be sure it is clinging in all the right places.
"Action!"
He and Aitana are pushed toward each other, then pulled away. Again they are close together, then apart. It's the first moment his character is really supposed to struggle with his growing feelings for her.
It's not working.
"No, NO, CUT!" Alfonso throws his megaphone to the ground and launches himself out of his chair. Again. "Take ten!"
SLAM!
Keanu walks across his trailer, pounding his hands down on the counter in the small, makeshift kitchen.
"Get a fuckin—," he paces back to the other side of the trailer, smashing his fist hard against his mouth, then throwing it down against his side. "This is rid—"
Whipping his head side-to-side, he marches back across the trailer, clenching his jaw, grabbing clumps of his hair, before throwing himself down onto his futon with a thud.
He's hurting her.
She is trying not to make it obvious, but he's hurting her.
How could it not hurt her? It's a rejection of sorts, a professional rejection? He doesn't know what, but he's hurting her. And he's hurting himself. And he's hurting the whole crew.
Chewing on his lip, he recalls the look on Alfonso's face in his mind, when he notices the envelope sitting on his small desk for the first time. He recognizes Sandra's handwriting immediately and races across the trailer, yet again, to grab it.
Dearest Keanu,
My deepest apologies for interfering with your work. I was horrified to learn that you're struggling to get into character as a young soldier swooning with new love because of your...distractions. Please accept my humble offering in an attempt to assist you with your troubles. I do hope this helps.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Wepa!
Un, dos, tres
Un pasito pa'delante, Maria
Un, dos, tres
Un pasito pa'atras
They've been salsa dancing at the same small Latin club every week since they'd arrived in Chicago. Bill didn't look like he'd be a good dancer, but he is; and she cannot contain her laughter as he spins her around the dance floor, and then, placing one hand expertly onto her waist, he takes her down into a low dip. They start their basic salsa step again, and somehow Sandra finds herself pulled even closer into Bill's arms.
There's a glitter in Sandra's eyes as he reels her in, not so much showing her smitten as it is showing her intrigued and, maybe impressed. The tempo of the music changes and now she's even closer to him as he pulls her into a slow dance.
With her face inches from his, he reaches to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. There's a moment, at least he sees the moment, and he yearns to seize it.
She can almost hear his thoughts and she knows it's time to put a stop to this. "I'm so sorry, Bill, I think I've crossed my messages with you. You're amazing, but—"
"So it's true."
He still has a faint smile and a twinkle in his eye, but his hand is slowly retreating from her hair.
"What's true?"
"Him."
She looks at him with confusion.
"Keanu Reeves. That video that broke, it's true. It's the only thing that makes sense."
"I—I don't know what you saw, but..."
They're no longer swaying to the music, but she remains firmly in his arms.
"Is he good to you?"
"What?"
He takes both of her hands in his and smiles again. "Is he good to you?"
She shakes her head, stuttering in denial.
"Sandra, you should only give any of your time to someone who treats you like the phenomenal person you are. You should feel light and happy and adored. Is he. Good. To you?"
"Yes," a soft flush crosses her cheeks as she finally drops her pretense. "Yes, he's one of the most incredible people I know. He's good. He's good, to me." She lowers her eyes, feeling both brave and terrified.
He leans in, one hand behind her head, and presses his lips to her forehead. "That makes me happy to hear. Now then," he spins her, "let's dance!"
When the song is complete, they collapse into a booth, both glistening from their hard foot labor.
Peter returns from the bar with a bucket full of Coronas, passing them out all around.
"To Lucy and Jack!" Peter offers as the group brings their bottles together with a loud clink.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
He reads her letter again, laughing at the collage she created with her grinning face on top of Aitana's body, when a knock on the door snaps him out of his moment. In rushes Alfonso, mumbling under his breath, half in Spanish, half in English, as he waves a stack of papers around. Still standing in the entrance of his trailer is Athena, and right behind her, he can see Aitana's shiny black mane.
She has a grip on her chin, which is pushed down into her chest, leaving a view of little other than her hair.
Alfonso's voice is growing louder as he describes the passion of the time, the explosion of sensuality that is growing inside the war hero and the woman he is rescuing. "I know the fire that is inside of you, Keanu. I've seen it. You've got to let it out!"
Keanu is unsure if he's speaking or nodding or standing entirely still, all he can do is watch the scene unfolding before him.
"Tell them, Athena!" Alfonso waves an exasperated hand in the air and throws himself down on a futon in the trailer.
***"I've rechecked your astrology charts," Athena begins, "and you are meant to be together. You are soul mates. And you are going to tell the most beautiful story of love and passion ever seen."
"Maybe we need to do some more brainstorming, to just, you know, grease the wheels...a glass of wine perhaps?" Alfonso ponders, but quickly shakes the idea off with his head. He rises and resumes his pacing.
Still in the doorway, Aitana's chin remains tilted but her eyes are raised and alert, following each player in the room as they move. She studies Alfonso, the bands of his neck tightened, then she glances to the placid expression on Keanu's face. She watches Athena, momentarily hypnotized by the large crystal necklace around her neck, then, again, takes in Keanu's faraway look. She sees the reddened cheeks of their director, then looks back to...
"Is something amusing to you, Keanu?"
She had managed to walk a few feet into the trailer, now, without garnering his attention. And if he hadn't noticed her hands firmly attached to her hips and her chin now jutted out and up, he may not have noticed her irritation at all. He certainly hadn't noticed his laugh at this most inopportune moment of discussing how they'll come together in the vat holding grapes and, then, after.
His face turns crimson as he contemplates how to get this boat back on track. He scrambles to his feet, folded paper flung onto the counter where he sat on a stool.
"It's a great idea," he starts, rummaging through a cupboard near his kitchenette and retrieving a bottle of Shiraz. Opening the wine, he grabs four solo cups, filling each a third of the way with the spicy liquid. He sets three of them down on the opposite side of the counter, the fourth remaining in his hand, which he now raises. "A toast!"
Incredulous, the other three turn.
"To...Paul and Victoria. And to the alignment of stars..." he nods toward Athena, "and to a damned great love story." This time he holds Aitana's gaze, penetrating with his own velvety black eyes and offering a silent promise: He is committed, to her, to this film, to their love story.
A subtle smile crosses her face. "To Paul and Victoria," she repeats.
Athena watches the two of them in their silent conversation: she watches as they synchronize their sips of wine, their cheeks full of hope. She sets her own cup down and rushes to Keanu, pulling him over to the other side of the counter next to Aitana. "Come, then, let's move to the bedroom."
Aitana stares at Keanu.
"The set," he clarifies for her, "the bedroom on the set."
She exhales, nodding.
Twenty minutes later...
"May I guide you?" Athena asks them.
"Of course!" Keanu replies.
Aitana offers another nervous nod.
Athena takes Keanu's hand and guides his fingers to Aitana's face, hair and shoulders. Then she takes Aitana's hand and places it against his chest, pulling her fingers down his stomach, around his waist, and back near the top of his behind.
He has to admit, it's working this time.
"Now, do it now." Athena insists, a hand on the back of each of their heads with slight pressure.
Obediently, he wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand cupping her head, and brings his lips to hers. He feels his body stiffen as she presses her breasts against him. There is heat settling in his groin, and she can feel it, too.
She can feel it, too!
He freezes in place. In the haste of Athena and Alfonso to push the two of them together, he'd forgotten to don the traditional privacy sheath that protects both actors during an intimate scene by preventing any awareness of the woman to the growing interest of the man. His dampened slacks and her flowered dress, stained with hints of burgundy and clinging to her svelte form, are all that separate the two of them.
He is a professional and a gentleman: he knows how jarring it can be to disrupt a moment to adjust a costume, and yet he also knows he hasn't done the greatest job of connecting with his love interest and he wants nothing less than enthusiastic consent for how the scene is going. He gets it when she grasps him by the hair and lets a soft moan escape her lips as he nibbles a trail down her neck and lays her back.
Tilting her chin up, she allows him access to the base of her neck and the delicate skin just beneath, her lips parting.
He is nothing if not attentive: as a lover, as a friend, and as a co-star. He can read a person better than a scholar can read a book, and the subtle shift in the angle of her hips as he slips his knee in between her thighs tells him her enthusiastic consent goes beyond her character.
"Annnd, pull back! Now!" Alfonso signals the next part of the scene, where he stops, the script calling for him to remind them both that he is married and cannot go further.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
The next day on set, Sandra is as light as a feather. There's an expanded feeling in her chest, now that she's finally spoken the truth about her and Keanu. She is laughing more, wiggling her eyebrows at the end of a good joke.
They decide to have lunch off set that day, walking together to grab some street food. Sandra loops her arm through Bill's and they skip down the street, singing "We're off to see the wizard" and giggling at each other when they trip over their feet.
Peter stops in his tracks and gasps like a school girl, hand playfully thrown across his mouth. In front of him is a food truck with the distinctly bright yellow and red colors of Jim's Original. "Polish sausage," he whispers to himself, then turns to the rest of the group. "Polish sausage! We stop right here, friends. I have got to have some polish sausage in my mouth right now."
Sandra elbows Bill, unable to resist. "That's what she said."
He grins, used to her sometimes childish humor at this point. "Lunch is on me, today. One polish sausage in your mouth, coming up!"
Sandra tips an imaginary hat in his direction and Bill heads to the line. She waits, crossing her arms across her chest and scanning other kiosks along the road. When she finds a newsstand, she makes a beeline toward it, hoping to find the days' edition of the Los Angeles Times. What she sees, though, has her feeling as though she's been dunked underwater.
Her eyes grow hot and begin to water. She blinks rapidly as she hones in on a magazine next to the Los Angeles Times at the stand, a magazine with a picture on the cover. There she sees a beautiful blonde sitting on the side of a pool in a teeny, tiny bikini. The tanned skin of her hand is flattened against a chiseled chest, a chest that she knows all too well. Above them, red letters spell out, ****"She has put 'Little Buddha' in her bed."
She squints harder, walking closer to the stand, tilting her head slightly to one side. She slowly picks up the magazine and strokes the man on the cover for just a second before tearing into the middle of the magazine to find the featured story. Picture after picture are plastered over ten pages, and she can hear the flash of the camera with each shot she sees. The smile is gone, now, and she starts to feel dizzy, like the walls are closing in. The sidewalk around her spins and her mind races to recall moment after moment of the past year. She sees all the times she told him not to get too caught up while he convinced her it was safe to fall. Every subtle glance, the sweet pain of electricity with every touch.
Her hands start to shake as she reads the details: sizzling poolside romp, walking up to his hotel room, to that uneven wooden door she's come to know so well. She turns another page, the paper tearing slightly at the top, and she feels the sting of her hand slapped across her mouth when she sees more photos: him with his fingernails painted twilight standing on a porch, wearing the same clothes she remembers him wearing.
That's where he went that day! When he said he had to meet someone...the day he brought champagne and truffles to my door.
The first day she really started to let herself fall, or at least to acknowledge it. The day she began to believe this could be real.
He left her that day, and he went to see Sharon.
That bastard!
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
* The cast did spend time together, salsa dancing.
**Lori Petty did say this about kissing him.
***Director does have a personal astrologer he brings onto sets, scenes inspired by this information
****Real headline from Voice magazine in France